Wrong: A Spoiled Stepbrother Romance (9 page)

Rorke said nothing more, the two of us spending the rest of the ride in silence. My arms crossed my chest and the scowl on my face remained firm as I hoped that this incident was all I needed to get dirty thoughts of Rorke out of my mind for good. My final reluctance at giving into the temptation was likely a clear sign that it wasn’t meant to be, my brain cutting through the debate to insist I not go further. Though I had been questioning my instincts ever since my life had fallen apart, I had to be firm and not do something that was so clearly wrong. Maybe this had been a test and though it came close, I passed and did the right thing.

Rorke stomped his brakes outside the carriage house and I jumped out of the car before he even had a chance to turn it off. As I tried to make my way into the house to be left alone, he yelled out after me.

“Hey! You’re welcome,” his words dragged out. He had moved on from what had happened in the car and it was left to me to make it extremely clear that that could never and would never happen again. I turned back around and marched myself right up to his face.

“Listen,” I instructed him, “what happened back there was an accident, I was weak and stupid and you took advantage. You have to know that it won’t ever happen again. You hear me? Never again.”

Rorke spoke softly through a grin, “All I’m waiting for is a thank you...sis.”

His cocky smirk didn’t distract me. Before I could turn to walk away, I saw just how bad his bruises were. The sun illuminated a few that were incredibly concerning. One on his side made me quickly forget how aggravated I was and I became sympathetic to the pain I figured he must be in. My whole demeanor softened and I raced to his side, examining this one dark purple mark on his side that was impossible to ignore. It hurt just to look at it.

“Oh Rorke,” I worried for him, trying to comfort this area of pain even though I didn’t know how. “Come…inside. You have to put ice on this or something,” I insisted. Rorke hesitantly followed me inside even though he was clearly annoyed with the contact he was getting versus the contact he wanted. “Sit,” I said while pointing to a chair by the kitchen. He obliged as I sought out some ice from the freezer. It was hard to watch him wince as he slowly lowered himself down on the chair, clearly in more pain than he had let on before.

After finding an ice pack in the freezer, I returned to my stepbrother, wanting to help him feel better. Positioning myself behind him, my hand delicately landed on his bare shoulder to hold him steady as my other hand placed the ice pack near the affected area. He flinched again as I made contact with his pain, gritting through it instead of running away. It was a relief to feel him let go of the tension in his muscles as he adjusted to the cold pack on his bruise. Rorke placed his hand on mine holding the pack in place and interlocked our fingers. His head leaned back and pressed against my stomach, just below my breasts. The feelings for him came back, the same ones I had felt in the car and I was going to have to restrain myself much better than I had on that drive. When his other hand reached up to find my mine, we interlocked there as well with him guiding me all over his naked muscles. My knees briefly grew weak as I did my best to convince myself that this couldn’t happen, not again, not ever. It was hard to repeat that mantra in my head as my touch worked gently over his bare flesh, his naked, toned, rippling muscles enjoying my touch. When Rorke’s head tilted even further back and he looked right up at me, it took all of my strength not to bend down and kiss him. My hands continued to massage his aching muscles as I tried to remind myself that I had to get out of there quick - or else something completely wrong would happen.

“I…can’t…” was all I managed to say before running off to my room, shutting the door quickly behind me. I pressed up against the door and listened to Rorke move about the room, knowing I was in over my head. Rorke was all I could think about.

*****

*****

Rorke

The workouts at the gym were grueling but I continued to be encouraged by actually feeling progress, mistakes weren’t as common and I was becoming more comfortable in the ring. The other fighters went from actively trying to kill me to complimenting what I did right and offering me pointers if I messed up. Hubert even gave some encouragement, albeit sparingly. One particular day he was silent towards me, like he was trying to avoid me. Towards the end of the day I became a little nervous when he asked me to stay behind and join him in his office.

"Close the door," was all he said when I arrived. Though I had walked through the door with a smile and positive attitude, fear took over as I began to believe that this wouldn't be a good conversation.

"Listen, Rorke, son," Hubert avoided making eye contact as he spoke, "you've been impressing everyone here with the work you've been putting in. Really. You've been working like a dog."

I knew well enough that there was a "but" coming and sure enough, it arrived almost on cue.

"But," he said softly, finally looking into my eyes, "you're not a fighter, not yet. You're getting there but you need some time."

Unsure of how he wanted me to respond, I didn't say anything, waiting for him to return to the praise. He didn't.

"Let me show you something," Hubert gestured for me to join him behind his desk, to come look at his computer monitor. I went back there hoping for the best.

"This is who you're scheduled to fight. The guy's a beast," he told me before hitting play on the video. It was a compilation of a fighter absolutely destroying several opponents. This guy wasn't huge but he was fast, the exact opposite of my style. His punches were fast and furious, dizzying even just to watch, insanely difficult to defend against, as made evident by the opponents he lay waste to. Funny thing was, it wasn't making me scared, this video my trainer found managed only to pump me up.

Hubert stopped the video and instructed me to go sit in the chair on the other side. "Rorke, if you get into the ring with this guy, he could very well kill you." His ominous proclamation didn't land like he had hoped it would and he appeared frustrated by my lack of concern. "You need to be smart son, understand your limits." Still no reaction from me. Hubert let loose a deep sigh and leaned over his desk to get closer to me.

"Listen," he said softly, almost whispering, "I know we had a deal but I'm not gonna hold you to it. It's too dangerous, this guy is too dangerous. After the fights we can figure out some way for you to come back, we'll tell the guys out there you couldn't fight for some reason, it'll be fine. I just can't be responsible for you getting killed by this monster."

I had a difficult time figuring out if this was some sort of a test but even if it was, he had really managed to piss me off.

"So what, you expect me to just quit? All this time I'm promising you and everyone else up and down I won't quit and you want me to just walk away? That's bullshit. You gotta realize, you helped set the table for this, getting the guys all hyped by telling them I was a spoiled rich kid who would eventually give up. How would I be able to show my face anywhere again? You've called me a quitter since day one and I've promised you I wasn't. I stick by my word, you stick to yours."

The standoff that ensued was more tense than anything I had encountered in the ring so far. Why Hubert would be surprised by my stubbornness was beyond me, I never hid it, it was a part of me that I flaunted from the beginning. He remained silent though, horrified that someone had dared talk back to him. His silence only begged me to continue.

"Look, I appreciate your concern but we had a deal. Train me to fight this guy like you said you would. I can do it."

Hubert's nostrils flared as he exhaled the breath he had been holding in. "This is on you, son," he called out as I got up to leave. "If you're not smart enough to know when to back down, this is on you."

Walking back into the gym, I realized that this was on me; I needed to push myself harder than I ever had before, work more than I ever thought possible otherwise, everyone would've been right about who they thought I was.

*****

*****

Madelyn

It wasn't often that I'd come home from work and Rorke would be there but when he was, he absolutely demanded my attention. We had moved past the surprise bathroom encounters and instead he would just spend the time trying to get a rise out of me. Rorke would rope me in by pretending he just wanted to talk and before long, he'd be going into detail about some girl he had been with or the size of his junk. As soon as I'd react with disgust, he'd laugh with delight and I'd be able to hear his cackling even after slamming my door closed. Some days I'd fill with dread when I'd see that he was home, not always having the energy to put up with his shenanigans. Sure I knew it was stemming from a place of insecurity, his needing to brag, but I wasn't there to boost his ego.

"So..." he started one afternoon before my foot was even through the doorway, "how was your day?" The sing-song nature by which he asked was enough to already get under my skin. He sat on a stool by the kitchen island, eating his eggs without a shirt on, a familiar sight at all hours of the day.

"Not today, Rorke, I'm exhausted." I had figured he would keep pushing the matter as always but instead he appeared wounded, as though I had hurt his feelings. Of course it occurred to me that maybe he was lonely, as far as I knew he didn't have any real friends or anyone to talk to, but I wasn't his punching bag, not there for him to torment. I remained firm and did my best to ignore him and continue to my room.

"Madelyn, c'mon," he begged while getting up from the stool and coming over to me, "hang out for a minute. Talk to me, tell me about your day and I'll tell you what, I'll even show what I learned today."

My eyes rolled so hard they risked falling right out of my head. He didn't care, his own eyes resembling a puppy's, begging me to stay.

"Let me drop this stuff in the room first," I conceded, "but I swear, if you start being gross..."

Rorke placed his hands up, promising me that he wouldn't even dream of such. I knew I was being suckered but I did feel at least slightly bad, swayed by his apparent dire need for company at that moment. He protested slightly when I closed my door but I needed to change out of my work clothes. Off came the stuffy office attire, the rigid shirt and slightly too tight skirt. As much as I wanted to take my bra off for good and call it a day, the hornball on the other side of the door wouldn't allow for that. I found a much more comfortable bralette and after putting it on, I shimmied into my comfortable, tight black yoga pants and a simple t-shirt prepared to go see what he wanted.

"Wow," he said as soon as I walked back out, "somehow you always manage to look great."

As I was tying my hair back behind my head, I warned him, "Rorke, I swear I'll go right back in that room..."

He again looked wounded that his attempt at a kind gesture was shot down. I knew he was full of shit though, I was dressed basically in pajamas and my hair was haphazardly tied behind my head. There was no way I looked anything short of a mess but it thrilled me to believe that he didn't see it that way. As unwelcome and strong as his compliments usually were, I can't lie and pretend that they didn't at least somewhat flatter me. That would have to remain my secret, he didn't need any encouragement.

"Come over here," Rorke invited and I begrudgingly joined him in the middle of the living room. His shirtless torso wasn't by any means a new sight for me but up so close, my heart rate elevated upon seeing his tanned and toned muscles. Rorke's arms opened wide and he directed me in between them, turning me around when I was close enough. My back was to him and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as his body got even closer, pressing himself right up against the curves beneath my thin yoga pants.

"Tell me about your day while I teach you how to throw a punch," he whispered into my ear as his body pressed even closer and his hands took control of my arms. His scent, his touch, it was all too much for me to attempt to keep myself focused, words struggling to leave my lips. Instead I stammered out an abbreviated sentence that didn't say much about my day as he moved my arms to display graceful punching and proper defense.

There was no use trying to detail my boring day and I certainly didn't feel the need to explain the lines of communication I had recently opened up with my ex Derek. I did though need to talk about something in order to combat the incredibly wrong thoughts that were quickly filling my head. The way his body felt against mine and the way we moved together made it difficult to remember that it was my stepbrother behind me; a relative. He managed to find a way to bring me right back down to reality.

“Just so you know...” he suddenly spoke softly into my ear, “the rule is, I'm not supposed to have any, um, intimate relations for at least a week before the fight. We still have some time...”

My whole body stiffened, unable to comprehend why Rorke would ruin out moment. Knowing my words would never get through to him, I chose to just ignore all that he had told me about his rule.

"Say, you know what I've always wondered?" My curiosity gave him pause and he relaxed our contact for a moment, waiting to hear what I had to ask. I doubt that he realized I was just doing my best to calm the intense tension that had built up between us. Rorke kept his hands on my wrists as he listened. "What’s up with the Irish first name? Aren’t you Italian?"

Rorke's body pressed against mine again, clearly relieved I hadn’t asked him something he didn't want to answer. His light chuckle sent his sweet breath over the nape of my neck, goosebumps over my skin. Rorke resumed training my arms to punch as he leaned in close, talking gently into my ear.

"My mother was a proud Irish woman, big, bright red hair. A real firecracker. And her father, my grandfather, was named Rorke. He was a boxer too."

Rorke's body enveloped mine as he continued to direct my arms to throw skillful punches at an imaginary opponent. I relaxed and relinquished control, letting him move me like the skilled boxer I knew he was.

"He was real old when I was a kid but he still would take the time to show me how to get into a boxer's stance. He was a champion." After saying that, Rorke used his foot to push mine further apart and then his chest guided my body to square my shoulders in that right way. I felt strong and prepared, ready to take on any and all comers. Rorke gave me that confidence.

We continued to move as one, shadowboxing with the grace and skill of a proper fighter. I closed my eyes, relishing the moment where I felt closer to Rorke than I ever had before. An intimate connection that had been absent from my life for too long.

"Do you miss your mom?" I asked after a period of silence, even though the answer was obvious. Rorke only offered a quiet "Yes," as our punches became more determined, his hands guiding mine out swiftly and quicker than before. He didn't ask about my dad but I felt the need to keep asking him questions, hoping he would open up some more.

"How did she, um, pass?" I asked, unable to see his reaction behind me but I felt it. His body stiffened and grew cold, feeling less inviting than before.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Though in my everyday life I almost always backed away when a wall was up, here I felt close to Rorke and I was dying to know the real him. I wanted him to feel safe with me, able to show his true self.

"It's ok Rorke," I said as I wriggled free of his hold and turned to face him, "you can talk to me."

Rorke's reaction wasn't what I had expected. He looked annoyed and he quickly put distance between the two of us. Rorke turned his back to me and started to walk towards the door.

"Come back, I'm sorry," I called out, "I just want to get to know you better."

He didn't react or respond, continuing on his way outside. Not wanting to push him away forever, I restrained myself from following him, silently chastising myself for ruining our moment.

*****